Who has bared witness to your survival
Conduits of the colonisers
Ever seeking blood of bloods

Woiworung
Boonwurrung
Guildjan
Wathaurong
Kurnai
Taungurong

living connecting communicating
through your archaic will
of energy to sustain
Virtuous woman knows not of herself
giving unto others the knowledge of
death.
Sparkling eyes the silver clouds long for.
I am riding, observing your gracious flesh
pulled from its resting place to fulfil the
needs of endless population crisis.
Dumbasses flashing neon orange in the sunlight.
Who am I to judge when the problems lie so
deeply consumed by the nature of the dominant
animal.
Changing you like an unwanted, mad surgeon
like some doctor to pursue the
science fiction of female genitalia.

You are so mutable, love of loves to me
teacher of all
May I call you Papatuanuku?
Are you her?
Can I ride you on this experiment of self?

Make me hear everyone speak poetically
so I can smoke 24/7
Am I poisoning myself like they ripped holes in you?
Will we find the passage guarded by someone else?
Can we even blame them darling?
Is it the inorganic plan?

Sorry for lusting
can we be the same?
Is that why the wind will change my face?
Force these changes so I become wiser
As wise as you?
Can I stop everything,
or is it part of this organised chaos?

Unquenched disorder in a world of mirage
Did I really see a cow being fucked from behind
or was it just a big cow?

So many questions, how uncharismatic…

Everyone loves you, but no one knows
Manufacturers of mystic symbols love their creations
Not as much as I love you
after 3 wines and 20 cigarettes
I am as much of a void
But I learn in hindsight darling.
As deep as a trench I’ll find myself and you
staring down at me licking at your thighs.
Let me learn to love myself with your body.

Nothing is as good as a guess
Life is an elusive substance
Can I use my foolish youth as some kind of
crown?
Crowned calamity of desire for bricks rendered pure
obtaining your depths for new yuppies validating old industry
on their morning runs together.
Let’s spit on them.
Can I see life drip from your mouth first Papa?
It would give me such heavenly feelings
bearer of gods and demigods. Ancestors born again in me.
Incest is not incest if we’re so devoid
Meeting you is not as meeting a lost cousin.

Hotere created this work from the poem by the same name by Hone Tuwhare

No Ordinary Sun
Hone Tuwhare

Tree let your arms fall:
raise them not sharply in supplication
to the bright enhaloed cloud.
Let your arms lack toughness and
resilience for this is no mere axe
to blunt nor fire to smother.

Your sap shall not rise again
to the moon’s pull.
No more incline a deferential head
to the wind’s talk, or stir
to the tickle of coursing rain.

Your former shagginess shall not be
wreathed with the delightful flight
of birds nor shield
nor cool the ardour of unheeding
lovers from the monstrous sun.

Tree let your naked arms fall
nor extend vain entreaties to the radiant ball.
This is no gallant monsoon’s flash,
no dashing trade wind’s blast.
The fading green of your magic
emanations shall not make pure again
these polluted skies . . . for this
is no ordinary sun.

O tree
in the shadowless mountains
the white plains and
the drab sea floor
your end at last is written.